Peter riffled through the other folded pieces of paper and found one that looked to be a court order. I recognized the common law formatting of the decision, but it was in Malay. Peter told me it detailed Mother’s adoption.

“Adoption? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Peter showed me that it was a court order allowing the adoption of my mother by her adoptive mother and her birth father. The names of the adoptive parents matched my po po and gong gong. Behind the court order, Peter found a letter written in Chinese addressed to my mother. He translated it out loud:

Swee Hua,

By the time you read this letter I will have left this world. I know you have a new life in Canada. Here are some documents you may need. I never wanted to tell you this, but with death summoning me, I feel compelled to share with you your true roots.

You are not my daughter. Your mother was a woman that your father sought out in hopes of having a son. After having your older sister, I was unable to have more children, and I allowed your father to search for other means. He met your mother, Eve Bacha, in Kuching one night while playing mah-jong and persuaded her to join our family. Your mother was not Chinese. She was Iban. When you were born, your father was disappointed you were not a boy and banished your mother from our house. She begged your father to allow you to stay. She told me that she could not take you home, as she would not be able to care for you. I agreed to take care of you as my own daughter.

Your father did not have the foresight or compassion to allow your mother to stay or to register your birth. This may pain you to hear, but it was as if he didn’t want to admit you existed.

I tried many times to help you get a proper birth certificate and citizenship, but the Malay authorities needed your birth mother to substantiate the fact that she was your mother and was Malaysian. I tried to find your mother but could not. Having a Malaysian father was not enough to get you a birth certificate because he was not married to your mother. The law did not allow him to claim you, even after my efforts to convince your father to admit you were his daughter.

I hired a lawyer and he advised me to adopt you so that you would be able to obtain citizenship through me. He also advised your father to adopt you so as to legitimize your relationship in law. We were able to adopt you, but when they issued you a new birth certificate it still did not list you as a Malaysian citizen. We applied several times for your citizenship. For whatever reason, many attempts to try to correct your status failed. This is why we moved to Brunei. I didn’t want you to know that you were different from your sister and the rest of the family.

We never returned to Malaysia. All of us believed we were Malaysian citizens, but we learned many years later we technically were not because we had forgotten to do the crucial step of registering ourselves after Malaysia became independent. We only had British Overseas Passports and old birth certificates that did not list our citizenship. It was very difficult to get Malaysian citizenship since we were no longer living there. Even after your father bought property in Malaysia and lived part of his life there, it was not good enough. We were all denied. This may be why, in later years, your aunties, father, and sister started to resent your place in Canada. They felt they moved to Brunei for you, and because of you, we were made stateless, too.

I tell you this not because you were not wanted by me, but because you may need this knowledge one day. You are not to blame, but your family may not want to talk to you after my departure from this world. I did not want you to find out from the others. I tell you this so that you may know where you come from.

I love you.